Chapter 1
Grace
Today was hell, butthings are looking up—it’s Friday, and I’m about to see Rowan. I maneuver the SUV through the gates to his driveway. Hopping out of the vehicle, I open the back door and grab my overnight bag.
I aim for Rowan’s house, shoulders slumped and eyes on the ground. I’m exhausted, but in just a minute, this awful day—no,week—will be put behind me. I’ll simply focus on the blissful weekend I’m going to have with my new boyfriend.
My steps slow. Wait...
“Ishe my boyfriend?” We haven’t really discussed titles. And if we’ve reached that status, would he appreciate the termboyfriend? “Perhaps I should call him my lover.” Coming to a complete stop, I rest my hands on my hips. “Or partner.”
I continue experimenting with titles, smiling. “Significant other.Bae. No, suitor.”
“I can get more creative than that.” Giggling now, I strut up the walkway, swinging my bag. “I’ll be spending the weekend with my...inamorato.” With that, I do a dramatic twirl. The Italian accent I’ve suddenly taken on makes me cackle harder.
I feel at ease laughing and chatting with myself because it’s dark and I’m hidden behind the gate and topiaries of the immaculate front yard. Rowan’s wealthy neighbors won’t see me and think I’m a nut job.
“Better yet... I can’t wait to fall into the arms of myparamour.” Yeah, that sounds sophisticated. I frown. No, scratch that. Neither of us is married, and we aren’t carrying on a tawdry affair. “Huh, maybe I should call him mybeau.”
“How about we just go with plain old boyfriend... maybe lover?” comes the baritone drawl.
My eyes fly to the porch as I let out a startled shriek. Rowan is leaning against a column, arms folded over his chest. He’s hidden in the shadows, so I didn’t see him.
“Oh my gosh, Rowan,” I breathed. Please tell me he didnotjust witness my silliness.
“Grace,” he hums. The corners of his lips twitch. When he clears his throat and rubs his jaw, I know he’s barely holding it together.
The heat spreading from my cheeks to my entire face almost melts it off. “You caught all of that?”
His smile breaks through. “I did.”
Sighing, I duck my head. “I like to cheer myself up when I’m stressed,” I explain. “Sometimes, I get a little outrageous.”
I’d give just about anything to rewind time andnothave Rowan see me acting like a crazy person.
His chuckle carries around the front yard. The deep, hearty sound pours over my eardrums and somehow seeps into my core, making my abdominal and vaginal muscles clench. I lift my head to gaze at him, entranced by the way his face lights up with amusement. His features, which are usually in solemn lines, soften. He looks so young and carefree right now.
Others might not see a man laughing as this intriguing phenomenon I’m making it out to be, but it’sRowan. The man barely cracks a smile, much less a laugh. Well, lately, that’s changed.
My embarrassment fades because I love that I can make him laugh, and my lips twitch with amusement. At least someone finds me funny. My parents used to tell me to be quiet, sit and behave like a proper lady. They’re such sticks in the mud.
Sobering, Rowan says, “I’m sorry you’re stressed. You can tell me about it inside.”
I let out a breath. I really don’t want to talk about my day and what sent it straight to hell. “Maybe.”
He studies me with narrowed eyes, and I think he’s going to ask questions, but he just says, “Well, what are you waiting for? You said you couldn’t wait to fall into my arms.”
“Oh, God.” I groan, but a grin emerges as I take off toward him.
He watches me in that intense way he always does. The way that makes fire dance across my skin and my heart do somersaults. He practically pulls me to him with his eyes.
None of my previous flames ever looked at me like Rowan does. Then again, none of them were self-assured men with a touch of arrogance who knew exactly what they wanted. None of them were this seductive. And maybe they shouldn’t be called flames because, honestly, they were all lukewarm compared to the enigmatic firefighter.
Reaching the porch, I walk right into his arms because I need his embrace. My budding relationship with Rowan seems to be the only thing working out in my life right now. He circles my waist with one arm and swoops down to press his lips to mine, taking my bag from me in the same breath.
Our kisses usually turn into an intense, passion-fueled affair with Rowan’s touch of dominance. I’m nearly melting at his feet as our tongues dance.
To my disappointment, he pulls away. “We’re still standing on the porch.”